Six of One
by Surrendered to Christ
Summary: Lately, I've been having bouts of amnesia. I have dreams of a coffeehouse with a bright orange couch. I hear voices in my head, and they're getting louder. My name is Chandler Bing, and I think I'm going insane.
1. Prologue

Obligatory disclaimer: I do not own Friends.

* * *

**_Six of One_**

_Prologue_

_September, 1995_

The silence in the room was deafening.

The ticks of the clock fell sharply upon his ears, each stab of that shapeless dagger sending jolts through his spine. The molecules of the air stood miserably motionless, quivering with suspenseful anticipation, begging for a noise to stir them into motion. They were heavy and still, and their very nature rebelled against it. But God had not granted them the power to move themselves, and so they cried the only way they could, their suffocating voices gasping for a breeze – oh, for such a breeze! Any will do, even that as small as one created by the subtle stir of a butterfly's wings.

Then the silence was splintered, cracking apart like the dead twig of a withered tree collapsing under the weight of the accumulated snow Winter in her fury had mounted upon it.

The echoes of the mirthless laughter chased themselves dolefully around the darkened room for mere moments, before the near-solid air closed in and crushed them to a noiseless death.

_How had it come to this?_

The clock on the wall struck six till twelve.

* * *

_(I cannot take credit for the title of this story. It was taken from an earlier name of the show we now call Friends')_


	2. Fragile

_****_

Chapter One

"_Fragile"_

_February, 1992_

"Chandler? Chandler!"

The sudden sound of his name spoken in such a hard, urgent tone snapped him to abrupt attention, and his mind crashed rudely back into reality, all at once flooded with a tidal wave of frantic signals as it once again became aware of his limbs and surroundings. A tingling sensation rushed up his spine, shooting straight to his skull with all the precision of frozen pine needles.

He blinked rapidly in a frantic attempt to clear away the fog that had settled over his vision some time during his near-out-of-body experience. After seeing a small firework celebration of spots, shape and color once again fell back into focus, and he found himself looking straight into a pair of concerned, pale gray eyes.

His sharp gasp of surprise would have been heard around the block, had it not been drowned out by the clatter of metal on concrete as he knocked his chair over in a hasty and clumsy attempt to put a few more meters between himself and the man in front of him. His arm came up warningly as the other started to advance, showing in no uncertain terms that he had a personal comfort zone of more than two centimeters.

"God, Zach, don't scare me like that!" An involuntary wince flashed across his face as he rubbed his temples in an attempt to sooth the panic-induced throbbing which was causing a deep, resounding vibration to echo mercilessly back and forth through his skull. "Next time, just tap me lightly on the shoulder, for the love of all that is good and pure!"

"Chandler…"

"What?" he shot back sharply, still peeved at the unpleasant awakening he'd been forced to go through. So busy was he at being upset that he completely missed the dumbfounded expression plastered over his friend's face.

"Chandler, I did tap you. I tapped, I punched, I shook, I called, and I hollered. I even splashed you with water, and nothing happened." Zach's searching gaze and sharp, perceptive-doctor eyes roamed over Chandler's blank face. "I've kept that up for near fifteen minutes, man. You had me worried." Zach's light tenor voice had always had a soothing effect on people – it was a useful tool for an aspiring doctor to master – and it served its purpose in nudging the adrenaline that had flooded his veins back to their hidden homes.

For the first time, Chandler realized that he was indeed wet; his shirt was uncomfortably damp, his jeans clung to his legs in a rather personal place, his hair was dripping like a disobedient faucet, and droplets of moisture still clung to his eyelashes.

A sense of unease crept up his body. How in the world had he managed to be oblivious of being drenched with ice-cold water?

"Well…well, I was sleeping. I went to bed very late yesterday," he mumbled defensively, shaking it off, offering the most sensible excuse he could come up with on such short notice. It would do, there was no need for looking too hard at something so insignificant.

Zach shook his head slowly, still studying the man before him like a laboratory specimen. It was at times like these that Chandler grew weary of his friend, and had to fight the urge to hide from those piercing gray eyes that didn't seem to possess the ability to leave out a single detail in anything they happened to chance across. Sure, the guy was a great friend – one of his only real friends, to boot – but with him, having a tiny problem meant getting x-rayed by Charles Xavier himself.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Zach, lay off me and turn down the heat, willya? I'm completely fine! Keep that up and I'll tear your eyes out and feed them to a rabid dog."

"Chandler, _your_ eyes were open. They weren't completely blank either. You weren't sleeping –"

"People can sleep with their eyes open, doc!" His voice came out harsher than he had intended, roughened by exasperation. "And if there ever was a time to learn how, it's during college. I was tired, alright? I had big paper due!"

"Chan, you were _talking_. It was mostly incoherent muttering, but I could have sworn you were carrying a conversation with yourself – something about coffee and muffins –"

"Well, maybe I was dreaming!"

And that wasn't a complete lie. Even as that sentence rolled off his tongue, a fuzzy image rose unbidden into his consciousness, a picture of a homey, adequately-lit room, painted with gentle, earthly colors. The background was blurred to a liquid pool of light, but for some inexplicable reason, a bight orange couch stood out, boldly contrasted. Its details were refined and miniscule, down to its love-worn stitches on the seats and fingers-picked holes on the armrests. Obviously it saw frequent use; it bore all the tell-tale marks of daily, devoted patronage. The sweet smell of fresh coffee emanated from deep within the stuffing, mixing together with the tempting aroma of fresh-baked pastries.

A honey-sweet and butter-warm sensation poured into his heart from an unseen source as the image danced teasingly behind his eyes.

_Home, _a soft voice whispered within his ears. _That's home._

Which was impossible, because home had never felt so safe or secure. Home had never been associated with calming colors or down-stuffed couches. Home wasn't fresh-brewed coffee or cream-filled cakes. Home had never felt like home should. And he was becoming convinced that it never could.

"Look Zach," he began slowly, as if being pulled slowly out from a dream, still savoring the after effects of that precious painting that had been gifted anonymously onto him. "I was tired. I had a big bio paper due today – you know biology is my worst subject. I was up all night finishing it. Forgive me if I spaced out a bit."

"Chandler…"

"Oh, what now?"

Zach's expression had twisted into one of growing fear.

"You have biology on Tuesdays. You turned that paper in two days ago."

* * *

Chandler slammed the door behind him as he stumbled into his tiny studio apartment, panting and embarrassingly out of breath. He really had to lay off the cigarettes; they were starting to hinder his ability to function properly. If he didn't quit now, they would undoubtedly stick around forever.

Of course, this wasn't the first time he'd thought about throwing away this habit – but as they say, old habits die hard, and this one he'd kept since he was nine. All his attempts to starve himself of nicotine had ended tragically before the third day was up.

Mumbling curses under his breath, he straightened up and wrestled his heavy coat off, casting it thoughtlessly aside in the vague direction of the couch. He'd had a coat rack once, and he was sure that there was a closet, but both had been missing in action for a good few years now (the closet might very well be what was now known as his Massive Junk Pile), and there was really no point in taking time out to recover things he could live without.

A few glances around assured him that the place was exactly as he remembered it, with the hills and valleys of random things littering the floor, the stack of unwashed dishes in the sink, and the covers of his bed lying in crumpled disarray. He relaxed slightly, running a hand through his light brown locks. Damn Zach for scaring him like that. And to think he'd ran away like there were little Chihuahuas snapping at his heels and yapping in their unearthly demon-dog fashion (he physically shuddered at the image). No doubt Zach was only playing a joke on him, making him think he was crazy – no way it could be Thursday already, he'd just had his Monday classes yesterday!

"And to hell with me for believing him like a stupid sucker," he berated himself, making a mental note to get the jerk back as soon as possible. Playing idiotic practical jokes was_ his_ job, and no smartass doctor-in-training was going to take that away. But revenge came later, he really ought to get to Biology now, or he would be late – for the sixth time in half as many weeks. He was on track to failing that class, and he knew it. What had he been thinking, signing up for a subject he hated so much?

But was it honestly his fault that he didn't have the gift of photographic memory and the patience of the Buddha?

Wading through his trash heap of a room was a skill he had perfected long ago. He even had a path mapped out. Two hops left, one forward, three in a diagonally-upward direction, one back, five forward, two to the right, and – ! he was at his desk. Three and a half years at college _had_ taught him something!

There was his biology paper, waiting serenely for him on top of his Bio textbook. He grabbed it hastily, and was about to stuff it in his bag when sense caught up and alerted him to the fact that something was off.

His paper had been five pages long, processed on his typewriter, and stapled together. This particular paper was at least twice as thick, and the last three pages consisted of notes taken on lined paper. A paper clip had replaced the staple. Almost involuntarily, his eyes drifted to the title.

"Introduction to Business: Criteria for an entrepreneur"

_I have Intro to Business on Thursdays. _This realization popped out hand-in-hand with no small amount of shock, and his breath caught in his throat as he dropped heavily into his chair. Snatching his bag from its resting place on his shoulder, he dove inside, shoving random notebooks, binders, and papers away, until he reemerged with his planner. It fell open to the bookmarked page.

The columns for Tuesday and Wednesday had been completely filled out.

A rush of dizziness overtook him, and his body slammed back to the desk. How could two whole days just drop out of existence? He had definitely lived them, if his planner was any indication, but try as he might, he could not drag up any memory to fill the gaping hole something had torn out in his mind.

"Clam down," he muttered aloud, the sound of his voice automatically taking on a calming, motherly tone. "You're fine. Calm down." Reflexively, his fingers found his cigarettes and put one to his lips, while his other hand found the lighter and lit it. In the back of his head, he was aware of a certain sense of disdain for the action. _"Caner stick,"_ the voiceless wind growled sneeringly.

He took a long drag, the drug immediately softening his heart's wild rampage. "All right. Now what did you do on Monday?"

There was a pause while another drag was taken in.

"I worked on my paper for Biology. Not Intro. Just Biology," he answered himself in his normal voice.

"Fine." The Mother's voice was back. But perhaps Mother was not such a good term. His mother had never spoken to him like that, and her image didn't arouse sentiment or kindness. No, the voice was perhaps more befitting of a nanny. Or – even better – a big sister. Nevertheless, it continued. "What did you do after finishing the paper?"

"There was a phone call." He had forgotten until now.

"From whom?"

"…"

"Chandler? From whom?"

"…Janice." His voice had grown smaller and he cringed at the recollection of his girlfriend's call. Her high voice, her baying laugh, all swirled back into his unwilling mind. _"Chand-ler Bing! There you are, my little Bing-a-ling, how are you? No, don't talk yet, I've got a surprise for you. My friend offered me her cabin, so tomorrow night you and I can have ourselves a little get-a-way. Just you and me, Chan and Jan, all alone on a mountain! Doesn't that sound romantic?" Here she stopped to torture his ears with a laugh. "Now I know it's a school night, but you can cancel your last class if you need to, and I know you only have evening classes on Wednesday. What do you say, Chandler?"_

He had stuttered incoherently, trying to figure out any excuse why he might not be able to go on the Trip from Hell. He'd been trying to dump her for ages, and going on a trip now wouldn't help matters.

But of course, his disobedient tongue got tied up in a knot. It was a curse – one of many that he owned – and it conditioned that he would _never_ be able to find the right words when an apocalyptic situation befell him. Before he knew it, she was saying, _"Alright, then, darling, I'll see you tomorrow!"_ and he was left listening to the monotonous dial tone, feeling like he was about to throw up.

And that was where his memory cut off. The next thing he recalled was getting up this morning, the whole incident entirely forgotten.

God, but she was going to kill him later for not showing up. Or did he show up? He'd gone to all his classes, so there was a chance that he might have gone to the Cabin of No Escape, too. Did he dare call her up and find out?

Probably a bad idea.

Deciding he'd better sleep on this problem, he tossed his bag on his desk, nearly hitting the lamp over, and made his way to the rackety pile of blankets on a metal frame that he called a bed. He could skip a class and live through it. Shoes were carelessly kicked off, and he climbed onto the mattress.

Groaning, he buried his face in the pillow – only to pull back an instant later, winkling his nose in disgust. Why the hell did it smell like it had been doused with beer? And…

…was that _lipstick_ staining the yellowing fabric?

This day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

It wasn't as if he'd never zoned out before, but those were always for only a few minutes, maybe an hour at the most. They were always only temporary lapses, more often than not triggered by a particularly bad experience, like flunking a test, getting in a fight, or – heaven forbid – his mother or father calling.

They had never lasted an entire day.

He threw his pillow aside, reaching down to pull his blankets up. _Forget it, forget it, was about time to buy a new pillow anyway._

A second later, he had sprung off the bed like a startled alley cat.

The blankets were _damp_! And where they weren't, they were crusty and dried. A musky odor trailed out from within their dark folds.

_What the hell happened here last night?_

_And why can't I remember any damn thing about it?_

He stumbled over to the couch in a confused daze, collapsing on it and dragging his coat on top of his body, trying in vain to push the questions away. Sleep now. Ask later.

Exhaustion had pushed his mind to the brink of shutting down, and he slipped quickly and quietly into the subconscious.

Silence settle over the room, broken only by a soft _clatter_ as Chandler turned in his sleep, arm shifting and pushing to the wooden floor a ring that had gone unnoticed. It was a golden engagement ring, the diamond glittering in the sun for a brief moment before it skidded into a nearby pile of old books.

* * *

"_God. You couldn't even have taken the time and cleaned up the place? Have you absolutely no shame?"_

_"Hey, shut up. How is it my fault he had to go and wake up so early? When I'm with a girl, I want to take time and enjoy myself. Not wake up at seven to go research some deep science topic in the library."_

_"It wasn't science, it was history. About the Sino-Soviet split. How could you have forgotten that? It was great stuff! And for goodness' sake, at least have the decency to not make a mess. Last thing he needs now is to find out."_

_"All right, I'll try to be more careful next time. But it's not like I can take time to think when I've got a girl in my arms. I can't juggle so many things at once. My head will explode!"_

_"Well, I'm not arguing with that…"_

_"Okay, you two, take it somewhere else. There's a mess out there just begging to be cleaned. I have to make my peace with the pig-sty that is his apartment, but not with those sheets. They're going straight to the washing machine. Get out of my way!"_

_"Alright, alright! Sheesh!"_

_"You know better than to stand between her and a mess, boys. You wanna go grab some coffee?"_

_"Ooh! I'll come with. I've written seven new songs today. Five about my mother's suicide, one about a piece of lint I found that was shaped like Ernie, and one about a snowflake."_

_"Might want to open with the one about the snowflake."_

_"Hey, cleaning woman! Be careful! We only have one body, break it and you know there'll be questions!"_

_"Get out of my way! Get out before I break your legs!"_

_"You know, that's probably the same kind of idea behind the evolution of the Komodo Dragon –"_

_"Shut up now or we'll lock you in with her."_

_"I'll be quiet."_

_"So, coffee?"_

_"Yeah! Let's go."_

* * *

_October, 1992_

Zachary Rochester, lifelong four-point-o student and first year med school class leader, was stumped.

The problem at hand was not one of the types he had any experience dealing with. He could not tackle it using one of the numberless equations he had stored in his head, or with any medication, or even physical dissection. The answer probably wouldn't be found in any of the book-filled shelves back home, nor was it conceivable that some divine force might grant him a favor with the solution.

Thus he was left to solve it on his own, with no tools other than his own body and brain.

And he was stumped.

He could not, for the life of him, figure out why his friend Chandler Bing had spent the last half an hour in a shoe store, and well over half that time staring longingly at a pair of designer leather boots that would've cost three month's worth of rent.

All attempts to gain his attention had been brushed off with soft grunts of irritation, and Zach had given up a while ago. But several saleswomen were starting to stare, and they giggled helplessly when he caught their eyes. Not that he could blame them, surely not many young men were prone to wander in and take root in front of a gorgeous pair of _women's_ boots.

What the matter was, he didn't know, but it was time to get out of here. "Chandler," he growled exasperatedly, probing his friend repeatedly in the ribs. "Let's go. I'm starting to feel uncomfortable."

"Mmmph."

"Chandler! Let's go, people are starting to stare!"

"Mmmph!" A hand reached up to bat away the offending finger.

"Don't give me that, let's go! Or else I'm just gonna leave you here!"

"I swear to God, if you don't quit that poking –"

Chandler paused abruptly, blinking in stunned confusion. Words that had been on the tip of his tongue fled from him, and he was left wordless and completely oblivious to what had just been happening. The deer-in-headlights expression now adorning his features would have been comical if the situation wasn't so dire. A moment passed in awkward silence, before Zach, whose patience had by now been sorely strained, grabbed Chandler's arm and half led, half dragged him out the door.

They paused two blocks away, and Zach dropped his friend's arm, which fell to its owner's side like a ball of lead. Chandler was panting lightly, still feeling very, very lost.

"Wha-what just happened? Why were we in that store?" he asked, wrecking his brain frantically for hints and answers.

"What, are you serious? You honestly don't know what's going on?" At Chandler's nod of affirmation, Zach only stared at him in pure disbelief, before informing him, in a voice both exasperated and worried, exactly what had occurred in the past hour and a half.

"I spent fifteen minutes staring at a pair of _boots?_" Chandler yelped at the end of his narration. "You've got to be kidding me! That's not even funny, Zach!"

"If it's not already obvious, _I think so too!"_

"I don't – I just – even when I'm zoning out, that's just –"

"What do you mean, 'zoning out?'"

Chandler hesitated. He had never confided of his condition to anyone before. It wasn't exactly a great leading line. "Hi, I'm Chandler. I zone out periodically and come back with absolutely no clue what went on during the past however many minutes, hours, or days I was out for." Yeah, _that'll_ improve his already abysmal social standing.

As to the few friends he did have…well, he had no idea how they would react. Zach was his closest friend, and although chances were that their friendship wouldn't be lost over this, he really had no desire to test that prediction. Sure, Zach was an aspiring doctor, a calm, composed, and caring man, but still…people got freaked out by strange things.

It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth jeopardizing that first real friendship he had ever made.

So he only smiled slightly, assured his friend that nothing was the matter, apologized for his behavior, promised to treat him to dinner as compensation, and left it at that.

"You're sure everything's alright? C'mon, Chandler, you'd tell me if something was up, right?"

"'Course, of course I would. Now come on, you said you wanted to rent a movie right? Let's do that!"

Thankfully, Zach dropped the subject, and allowed Chandler to lead the way to the Blockbuster.

"What did you want to check out? Die hard?"

"What, again? What is it with you and that movie?"

"It's a great movie! Is it my fault you can't appreciate the greatness of the film?"

"Well, I'm not wasting my money on a movie we've seen ten times over. I'm checking out something else." With that said, he went off into another aisle and disappeared form Chandler's view.

"Humph. Fine. _Be_ that way. _I'll_ check out John McClane."

A voice in his head immediately chuckled. _Hee hee. Yeah, Chan, you do that._

_Shut up,_ he growled back at himself. _I did NOT mean it that way. _

That giggling voice took no heed of him, continuing to chuckle merrily to itself.

_Great. Even my own head is making fun of me._

"Excuse me."

Chandler broke out of his reverie at the sound of the strong, female voice. Turing around, he found himself face-to-face with the perfect vision of lustful beauty. An inch or two shorter than himself, the women's full, round face, deep, gorgeous brown eyes, and tight dress wrapping around a stunning figure caused his tongue to freeze up and his limb to go numb with shock.

The woman, however, had no such disabilities. Her speech was yet unhindered, and her arms and legs worked fine. She smiled, her spellbinding gaze darkening suggestively, and she walked up to where he was still standing, immobilized. He gasped softly as her breasts pressed against his body, and her hand reached around to wrap him up and draw him close. Her fingers found his bottom and gave it a gentle caress.

"Hello, there. I thought it was you." Her voice had toned down to a rich, vibrating rumble, and the words dropped heavily into his ears. "I had a great time that night. Shame you didn't find it in your heart to call me."

"I…I…!"

She pressed a finger to his lips to silence the frantic stuttering. "Hush, baby, I'm sure you have an excuse. And I'm willing to forgive you, but I'll need some convincing."

"I…I don't…I can't"

"What's the matter? You had no trouble controlling yourself before. C'mon, sugar, give me a little something. You owe me for not keeping your promise to call." She nuzzled his neck softly, causing a tingle to shot right up his spine.

Chandler's vision was going dark. Already, he felt faint, and an arm seemed to be grabbing his mind and pulling it back. _C'mon, Chandler, get out of the way, I'll handle this!_

Chandler was half-way gone when Zach's voice grounded him back to earth.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Zach!" Chandler gasped, relief flooding his voice. He pulled away from the strange woman, reaching out towards his savior. "God, Zach, where have you been?"

"Who's this? Your friend?" The woman wasn't about to let go of her prize so easily. She latched on to his waist, clutching him close. "Well, he's not so bad. Tell you what, I got a friend living right across the street. How about I get her for him?"

"Chandler, what's going on? Who the hell is this?"

"I have no idea! She just – she just comes up and starts groping me –"

"_What?_" the woman gasped, pushing him back an arm's length away, and yet still not releasing him completely, her iron-strong fingers gripping his shoulder. "What are you talking about, we slept together last Saturday!"

"Last Saturday? Wasn't that when you were supposed to go out with Janice? Please tell me you didn't blow her off again. It's a miracle she hasn't already given up on you as it is."

"I didn't sleep with her!" Chandler wailed, struggling to free himself. "Zach, you've known me for years, am I the type to just go out and have sex with strange women?"

"…well, no…"

"Right! I barely know where everything _is_. C'mon, Zach, you gotta believe me!"

The woman's eyes flashed indignantly. "Well, last Saturday you certainly seemed to know your way around the bathroom of the club!"

Chandler gaped at her. "That wasn't me! That _wasn't_ me!"

"Alright, Chandler, if you say you weren't with her, then where were you?"

Two pairs of eyes gazed upon him fiercely, expectantly.

With growing horror, he realized there was only one answer he could honestly give.

"I don't remember."

* * *

"Damn it, Chandler, how can you just not remember something like that?"

"I don't know. I don't know!"

"How do you just black out a whole day?"

"I don't know!"

"Has this happened before?"

"…"

"Chandler! Has this happened before?"

"…Yes." His voice was almost inaudible, crushed with guilt and shame.

"When?"

"It's been happening for a long while. Sometimes, I just lose a minute or two. Mostly, it's only a short while, like a short day dream. Until a couple of months ago, it's never been more than, like, fifteen minutes. But then…you remember that time you threw water on me and I didn't wake up? That time, I lost two whole days. And you know what? I think I may have done some poor girl that time, too. I tried to convince myself it didn't happen, because the next morning my sheets were all washed and I was sleeping on the bed again, but…I don't know, maybe if I can sleep with girls in my sleep, then I can clean, too. Since then, I've been getting longer blackouts. They're not often, but…"

"Chandler…" Zach sat down so that they were face to face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was…" To his utter abhorrence, tears sprang into his eyes, tears of self-loathing and fear. "I…"

"Chandler?"

"I was _scared,_ alright? I was so freaking damn _scared! _I thought I was going crazy, and I couldn't stand the though of you just…abandoning me! You're my best friend, you're one of the _only_ friends I've got, I didn't want to let some stupid amnesia break that up!"

"Oh, Chandler…I wouldn't have left, I…"

"So you're fine with some whack-job who zones out, picks up women, and then just forgets about it afterwards? You're fine having a friend who's crazy and _sick_ enough to go out and have one-night-stands and not even bother to remember it the next day?"

"Chandler, it's not like you're doing it on _purpose_ are you?"

"Does that matter? All that matters is that I'm _capable_ of being so disgusting that I don't even want to admit I know myself!"

"Chandler – Chandler, wait!"

His words slid over deaf ears, and then he was standing alone in Chandler's trashed apartment, surrounded by broken fragments of things his friend had shattered in rage and blind fury.

* * *

_Oh God, Chandler, I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, it wasn't supposed to go like this!'_

Chandler cringed, burying his face farther into his arms. He wished that voice in his mind would stop apologizing. It really wasn't helping matters, as it only confirmed that fact that he did indeed do something so horrendous, so utterly _unlike_ himself…

He shuddered.

He didn't quite know where he was, all that mattered was that it was in a place so hidden that Zach wouldn't be able to find him.

He felt so dirty, so utterly filthy.

_Chandler, go to sleep,_ a sisterly voice murmured softly, and it felt as if someone was holding him, rocking him quietly and gently. _Go to sleep, you've had a long day._

He was so, so tired. Sleeping wouldn't hurt. Take away the pain, take it all away…

* * *

Zach looked up when the door knob turned.

"Chandler…man, Chandler, I'm glad you're back. You worried me."

Chandler looked up at his voice. His eyes were red from crying and his features looked exhausted, but he had calmed down, and he smiled tiredly when he saw Zach standing up from his spot on the couch.

"Sorry about that." Chandler's voice was lighter, higher, more _feminine_ that Zach had ever heard it before. "It was just shock. Sleeping a few hours should make things better."

"Yeah…yeah, all right. You want me to stay?"

"It's okay, you can go home. We'll see you later."

"Well, if you're sure. And if you need anything, you know you can always just call me."

"Yeah. Thanks, Zach. You're a good friend."

Zach smiled, and clasped his shoulder warmly. "I cleaned up a little for you, but there's still some glass. Be careful, okay?"

"Sure. Thank you. It really means a lot."

Zach nodded to him, understanding written over his features, and then he left, closing the door behind him.

The lone figure sighed, gazing around sadly. "You really are a good friend, Zach. Don't leave him now, he needs you more than ever."

* * *

_Hee hee. Are you sufficiently confused? Don't worry, it was written to be that way. Poor Chandler must be more confused than you! But all will become clear._

_Thanks for reading! It's rare that I get around to a 'Friends' story anymore, but this one was so much fun to write. Please leave a review!_


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